Dancing With Tears in My Eyes
by gleekinout
Summary: As a District 8 tribute in the 68th Hunger Games, Rachel Berry knows she has no chance of survival. Her only hope is her mentor, former victor Noah Puckerman, though falling in love might complicate everything, especially with 23 other kids planning her death. AU.
1. Chapter 1

The room is hot when I open my eyes. I am sweating, an unfortunately common way for me to wake up during the summer months. Our air must have been shut off again last night, turning the small apartment I call home into a sauna.

I quietly slip out of bed and peel my oversized tee shirt off, dropping the wet garment on the floor. I pull a tank top out of my closet and pull it over my head before opening the door to my bedroom, exiting the space and heading down the hall towards the kitchen.

There is not a sound in the whole apartment—Blaine must still be sleeping. He normally sleeps in, but how he can sleep in on Reaping Day, I will never understand.

I flit around the kitchen quietly, preparing a pot of coffee Blaine and I will share when he wakes. I grab the few strips of bacon we have as well as two large eggs. I even pull out a few packets of sugar, something we save for special occasions. I wouldn't call Reaping Day a special occasion, but it could be the last time either of us enjoys a meal in our small kitchen. We like having a nice breakfast one day out of the year.

After all, District 8 tributes normally don't come home alive.

Blaine, who also happens to be my cousin, and I share a small apartment in one of the rundown buildings in what people in District 8 call "The Pit." It's not an actual pit, but it got its name for being the armpit of the district. It's the poorest area of District 8, the area where those who never seem to have enough of anything live. I was born in the Pit, grew up in the Pit, and if I'm lucky I'll die in the Pit as well.

Of course, I most likely won't die here. It's more likely I will die in the Hunger Games arena at the hands of some fifteen-year-old who has trained his whole life to kill me.

From the moment I was born, the odds have not been in my favor.

My mother, Shelby Corcoran, was one of the few victors District 8 has had. She won the 48th Hunger Games when she was only fourteen. I don't know how—she never let me watch the old tapes of her games. She claimed they would traumatize me. I never believed her. I think she didn't want to see them again more than she cared about me seeing them. When she was sixteen, she married Leroy Berry, my father. Four months after their wedding, my sister Beth was born. My mother found out six months later she was pregnant with me.

And for that brief moment in time, everything was okay in the world.

But on my father's last reaping, his name was called. No one stepped up to volunteer to take his place—who would when being a tribute in District 8 was essentially a death sentence? My mother left Beth with a neighbor while she was forced to mentor her husband on how to survive a fight to the death.

He fought to the death, never giving up even after he'd been stabbed multiple times by a boy from District 2. He eventually died, but not before taking two others with him. The people in the Capitol still talk about him today, a rarity for someone who didn't win their games.

Growing up, my mother never smiled. She refused to live in the house in the victor's village, preferring life in the Pit to it. I think she stayed there because it reminded her of my father. Beth and I tried to cheer her up constantly, but nothing ever seemed to work.

When Beth was twelve, her name was pulled during the reaping, and my mother was once again forced to mentor someone she loved, knowing they most likely weren't coming home with her. She died the first day of the 62nd Hunger Games. My mother decided to play Russian roulette with a loaded gun a week later, two weeks before I turned twelve. I don't think she could bear the thought of mentoring her only other child just to watch her be sent into the Hunger Games arena like cattle for the slaughter.

I've been on my own ever since.

Blaine's parents died in a factory explosion when he was fourteen, so he's been living with me ever since. His older brother, Cooper, lives with us as well, but only when he's fighting with Taffeta, his girlfriend. Blaine and I both work in textile factories, the industry of our district, as well as going to school. Most people from the Pit are factory workers. For their first job, at least.

As a girl from the Pit, I know how my life is going to turn out. I will never get married. I will spend my life working in a textile factory, and I will spend my nights working on the streets like every other Pit girl does. Clothed in tight skirts and low-cut tops, their specialty is pleasure for the richer members of District 8.

Pit boys have a different option if they wish. They can choose to go into the business of pleasure like the girls, though there isn't much of a market for it in District 8. Most of them choose to spend their nights in the underground arenas, beating the shit out of other Pit boys while the upper class of District 8 place bets on the winner. At the end of the night, the boys split all the money they've made before returning home to nurse their injuries. Then, it's back to the factory a few hours later. It's dangerous and there are deaths all the time, but it's the way of life here.

Blaine has done everything in his power to make sure I don't end up there, but we both know it's inevitable, just as it's inevitable that he'll end up in the sewers fighting the other Pit boys. We'll need the extra money for food when neither of us is eligible for tesserae anymore. Cooper's been fighting since he was sixteen. Now, at 26, he never loses.

My name is in the bowl 10 times this year while Blaine's is in 36 times, having taken tesserae for both him and his brother, as well as his parents when they were still alive. Every year he begs me to let him take tesserae for me, but I refuse. It wouldn't matter if my name is in one time or 100 times—the odds the paper Persei Roxen pulls out will say "Rachel Berry" are extremely high. I don't know why the Capitol has it out for my family, I just know I will become a victim to their Hunger Games by the time I turn eighteen, just like my sister, mother, and father before me.

I hear footsteps and Blaine walks into the kitchen, dressed only in his boxers, his chest damp with sweat. "They shut off our air again?" he asks. I nod my head. "Damn, I thought I sent in that bill."

"Are you sure you sent that in? And if you did, are you sure it was enough?" I ask.

Blaine seems think about it for a moment before shrugging, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He grabs a pack of sugar from the pile before looking up at me, a lazy grin on his face. "Oh yeah, happy Hunger Games."

"Happy Hunger Games to you as well," I say, raising my mug to him. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor," I say, mimicking the ridiculous Capitol accent Persei has.

Blaine laughs before coming around to my side, peering over my shoulder and into the frying pan. "Mm, bacon," he says. "You spoil me, Rach."

"Don't get used to it, Anderson. This is all the bacon we have. I figured Reaping Day is the perfect excuse for me to fry it up for us. Hell, we might as well put a little meat on our bones, just in case." Pit kids are skinny. We never have enough to eat and we're always working when we're not at school.

"Well, I love bacon. I'll take what I can get. You should give me your helping as well—you don't need any fattening," he teases, sticking his tongue out in my direction. Blaine of course, is joking. If either of us needs fattening up, it's me. If I went into the arena as I currently am, I'd be sure to be one of the first to die.

The fact is I'm 16 and much skinnier than I should be. I'm not as bad off as the kids in the Seam in District 12, but I'm just a step above them. I'm naturally small for my age, but the small rations of food we get in the Pit do nothing to help me grow at all. I'm five foot nothing and weight maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. My dark brown hair is usually braided into two pigtails that hang on either side of my face. I have chocolate brown eyes and pale skin. In my own personal opinion, I'm nothing remarkable to look at, though Blaine says differently.

I scoop the food onto two plates, handing Blaine his, which he quickly inhales. Neither of us is very good at making food last. We get meals like this so infrequently, we eat them before they have a chance to go bad. Within a few minutes, we are both finished the bacon and eggs I cooked for breakfast. All that remains is the tough, tasteless bread our district is known for. Neither of us particularly likes it, but food is food. We split the roll, our chewing being the only sounds in our apartment.

Once breakfast is done, Blaine and I retreat to our respective rooms to change into our outfits for the Reaping. Cooper will pick us up soon to travel with us. Attendance at the Reaping is mandatory, even if you are not a potential tribute. The only way to not attend is if you are on your deathbed. Skipping a reaping is punishable by death. It's the same way in every district.

Every year, I make myself a new dress for the Reaping at the factory where I work. It's technically against the rules and punishable by public whipping, but it's so common that the local Peacekeepers don't care enough to discipline us so long as you're subtle about the materials you take and you don't do it all the time.

This year, the dress I'm wearing is white and coral made from silk. The top half is white with a coral skirt. The sleeves come to my upper arms while the skirt falls to just above my knees. I've paired it with cheap, white flats, a fake gold necklace, and earrings that resemble flowers. It's the only jewelry I own.

Blaine comes into my room, dressed in a short-sleeved button-up white shirt, grey slacks, and a red tie. He looks me over once, a grin on his face. "Are you feeling lucky today? You don't look as flawless as you normally do on Reaping day," he teases.

I roll my eyes, but don't say anything else about the Reaping. I don't like talking about it or the Hunger Games in general. They're too painful.

Cooper walks in just then, Taffeta on his arm. Taffeta is tall and skinny with long blonde hair that falls just above her waist. She's not from the Pit—her father actually owns a factory that produces ladies gowns. Yet, for some reason, she chooses to date Cooper, a Pit boy. Her parents seem to love Cooper anyways. They'll most likely get married one day.

Taffeta is dressed in a tight-fitting dark blue lace dress that comes above her knees. She's paired it with a pair of matching heels and earrings that I'm sure cost more than I make in a month. Taffeta is beyond gorgeous. She could have her pick of any boy in the district, yet she chooses to be with Cooper, someone who will never be able to give her the life she is used to living.

Blaine and I follow Cooper and Taffeta out of the apartment and down to the lobby, choosing to take the stairs rather than risk getting stuck in the elevator for an hour. The four of us make our way over to the subway which will take us downtown where the Reaping is held. The station is crowded since everyone in the Pit is going to the same place as us, but we manage to squeeze onto the train, standing close for a 30 minute train ride.

When we arrive downtown, Cooper and Taffeta lead us to the center of the city where every year they set up the Reaping. Many other kids are there, having already been checked in and sent to stand with the other kids their age. Cooper wishes us luck and gives us each a hug. I know this year is especially stressful since it's Blaine's last year. He's hoping Blaine will once again be safe. I'm praying for the same thing.

My finger is pricked by a Peacekeeper. My blood is taken and scanned before I am sent over to the area with the other sixteen-year-olds. I wave to Blaine who is standing with the eighteen-year-olds, giving him a smile.

Persei Roxen is up on stage already along with our mayor, Will Schuester, and Noah Puckerman the only living victors. Will won his games when I was two, so I don't remember them. All I know about him is that he's in a constant state of being either drunk off white liquor or out of his mind on various hallucinogenic drugs. As a victor, he is assigned to mentor the tributes before their games, doing his best to prepare them for the arena.

Noah's games I remember a little more. He won when he was 12, something unheard of. I was ten during his games and watched them with Blaine and Cooper while my mother was in the Capitol watching Noah compete. He played weak the whole games and hid, then came out and slaughtered the careers in their sleep. It was all a bit unsavory, but he's one of the few success stories our district has.

Once everyone has arrived, Persei walks up to the microphone, tapping it a few times. "Why hello everyone!" she says pleasantly, her Capitol accent dripping on every word she speaks. "Happy Hunger Games. It's so wonderful to see everyone's faces again." She falls silent as the video starts, the one that reminds us why we have this yearly event.

Before the Hunger Games ever existed, there was a rebellion. All the districts revolted against the Capitol in what was known as the "Dark Days". We lost, obviously, but not before district 13 was bombed into oblivion. As punishment, all the twelve remaining districts must give two tributes, a boy and a girl, to pay for their part in the rebellion.

"Well, let's get things started, shall we? Ladies first!" Persei trills, reaching a hand into the large glass bowl. In there, ten slips of paper say 'Rachel Berry'. Persei pulls one out, opening the paper and reading the name off. "Rachel Berry!" she calls.

A hush falls over the crowd before I hear Cooper shout, "No!" in the back. This is the day he's been dreading. He lived through his time at the Reaping without having his name called. This is Blaine's last year, and I only had a few years lest. I know he prays every night that we'll be spared. It's only the three of us left, and I know he can't bear the thought of losing one of us.

I look over and see the color has drained from Blaine's face. He's not moving, but is gripping the fence he's standing next to. His knuckles are white as a sheet and he doesn't seem to be able to move.

A Peacekeeper comes over as I make my way to the front. He doesn't look at me. Instead, he walks me up the stairs until I am on stage.

Persei even seems a little startled by my appearance. I know everyone in District 8 has been hoping my name would never be called. The Hunger Games has taken everything from me already—the least they could do is let me keep my life.

Persei puts an arm around my shoulder in front of the microphone as Will looks on. I saw the pain in his eyes when my name was called. Will and I have history—he's like an uncle to me. My mother was his mentor in his games, and he mentored my sister with her. He stops in and sees me every so often to make sure I'm alive. I saw him yesterday and he told me, in a rare moment of lucidness, that this was the year.

I guess he was right.

Noah doesn't even look in my direction. He and I met for the first time after he won his games, though we were both children then. He was there for my mother's funeral and stops by from time to time to check in on me. I know he doesn't like being in the Pit-people who aren't from there find the desolate state of life there unnerving and the people unsavory. He mainly stops by to make sure I'm still alive. I assume it's some promise he made to my mother shortly before her death. Besides her, the two of us share nothing in common. He has more money than he could ever want from winning his games while I've recently been at the mercy of the older men in our district who have a penchant for younger girls to make ends meet. I don't know if it is possible for two people to have less in common.

"Your mother must be so happy right now!" Persei squeals. "Well, it seems you're joining the family business," she jokes with a small chuckle. No one else laughs. I can sense the outrage they're feeling, but no one steps up to volunteer.

No, my mother most certainly would not be happy right now. This was the exact reason she deserted me in the first place. I am not the ideal candidate for a tribute. I'm short, skinny, and have no combat training. I'll be lucky if I make it five minutes in the arena.

Persei ushers me off to the side where I take a seat next to Will. He's staring at me as though I've sprouted horns or something. I can smell the alcohol on him. I shift away from him, uncomfortable. "Now, for the boys," Persei announces. I send a silent prayer that Blaine's name not be picked. I can kill strangers, but I'll never be able to kill Blaine. "Knot McQueen!" she announces.

There is a loud scream and a woman in the crowd faints. A young boy—no more than 13, starts heading towards the front. He doesn't seem to be able to think. He makes his way to the stage, all the blood from his face gone at this point. I don't know how he is still standing now. I expected him to pass out as soon as the peacekeepers came to lead him up to the stage.

This is even more wrong than my name being called. He's only a kid. I've never even seen Knot, though that isn't very surprising. District 8 has that largest population of any other district. There are lots of people I've never seen before.

Persei attempts to talk to him, but the poor kid is in a state of shock that all he can manage to do is tremble and shake his head. Persei eventually gives up and sends him over to me. I know Knot has heard of me-everyone knows of Rachel Berry and how her entire life has been ruined due to the Hunger Games. I am used as a cautionary tale as to why people don't go against the Capitol. They say my mother defied the Capitol her games and that's why all her family members have been killed off one by one. I couldn't tell you if it was true or not since I've never seen her games. And it looks like I never will.

Perse concludes the ceremony, and Knot and I stand up to be led off the stage while Persei, Will, and Noah board the train, allowing Will to get an early start on his liquid lunch. I'm not a maternal person, but seeing Knot trembling beside me breaks my heart. I reach my hand down and take his in mine, giving it a squeeze of comfort as if to say everything will be alright, even though we both know that isn't true.

Then, something unexpected happens.

District 8 is not known for being a unified or respectful district. We have more pleasure workers than even the Capitol as well as the underground fighting rings that are illegal. Almost everyone is addicted to something—morphling, alcohol, hallucinogens, gambling, sex, you name it. Typically, our tributes are underprepared for the game, having grown up in an urban setting as compared to the wilderness like District 7. Yet, people here still care for others. Everyone in the Pit has looked after me since my mother died, bringing me small scraps of food to make sure I didn't starve.

As Knot and I are led off stage by a few Peacekeepers, everyone in the crowd bows their head, a sign of respect and mourning. It is a unique gesture to our district, something we usually reserve for funerals. Still, I am moved by the gesture and begin crying as I am led off the stage and to the back for my final goodbyes before I am sent off to the Capitol for my death.

**AN: So, I hope you like this so far. Please please please review! It will make me so happy!**


	2. Chapter 2

The room I am brought into is one I've never been in before. I don't even know what building this is-probably where the mayor does his business or something like that. It's not very large. Knot and I were led down a small corridor before both being shown to separate rooms where we will say our goodbyes before boarding the train that will take us to our deaths.

I know Blaine will tell me that I am wrong, that I can win this. My mother won, so why can't I? He'll try to convince me it's in my genes or my heart, that I can win if I set my mind to it.

However, deep down, we both know that isn't true.

I am weak. I don't know how to fight. I'm more likely to get my ass kicked by a six-year-old than I am to defeat them in a fight. I have no skills that I can use in the arena unless we somehow wind up in an abandoned textile factory. Even so, the most I would be able to do is sew something, and I'm positive you can't defend yourself properly with a needle and thread.

I walk around the small room I am in, examining the paintings hanging on the walls. One is of a beach, a scene I'll never have the chance to see. The other of a family, something I never have and never will know. It's still hard for me to remember my sister. I was still young when Beth died. My only memories of her are vague ones of the two of us fighting over a doll or a hair ribbon. One might think it odd since I was a little older when she was killed, but I have blocked out most of my childhood from my memories. It's too painful to remember.

The door opens and Blaine sprints in, throwing his arms around me. He is followed by Cooper and Taffeta, both of them with grim looks on their faces. Blaine buries his face into my neck as he lifts me off my feet, his sobs muffled against my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to him, closing any gap that remained between us.

This is the hardest part, saying goodbye to Blaine and Cooper. We're all each other has anymore. Blaine and I have supported each other since my mother died, doing whatever it took to survive. Not a day has gone by since that horrible day that I haven't seen his face as I prepared to head to school or work. I can't imagine what it's going to be like in the Capitol without him sleeping in the room right next to mine.

"Fuck this. Let's go. You and me. We'll get out now before they realize you're gone and we'll hide. I'm not letting them take you. They've already stolen so much from you. Why do they get to have your life as well?" Blaine asks as he sets me down, not removing his arms from around me. I'm positive a peacekeeper will physically have to separate us at this point.

"I think it's too late, Blainey," I say softly, standing on my toes to give him a kiss on the forehead. "I think they'll notice if I go missing now. My fate is set. Just, promise me you'll be okay after the games end and you're all alone," I whisper softly.

"Stop that," he commands. "Stop talking like you've already lost. You don't know what's going to happen yet. You could win."

I scoff and roll my eyes at him. "Blaine, I have no kind of combat training. I can't throw a knife or string a bow and arrow. I don't know how to survive in the wilderness and I'm so small, some of those kids from District 2 could break me like a twig. Add that to being trained by a spaced out drunk, and I'm certain to die ten minutes after I step off my platform. The sooner you accept that, the better," I say firmly. I don't mean to be harsh, but it comes across that way.

Blaine looks crestfallen as he lets me go and Cooper walks over, pulling me close. "Be easy on the kid. You and I know the reality, but let him hold onto some sense of hope or he's apt to lose his mind," he says quietly into my ear. "Whatever you do, don't give up," he says louder so Taffeta and Blaine can hear. "Don't let some brat with a knife take you down without putting up a fight. You may not be as strong or skilled as those other tributes, but you're a fighter. You've had a shit life yet you're still here. If you survived that with a few minor scratches, you can survive this. I believe in you, Rachel," he says, kissing my cheek, stepping to the side to make way for Taffeta.

Her face is streaked with black from her makeup running and she still hasn't stopped crying. Taffeta may be Cooper's girlfriend, but she's been like a mother to me. She and Cooper have been surrogate parents to me. From the moment Cooper introduced us, Taffeta took me under her wing. She made sure I had clean clothes to wear to school and I finished all my homework. She was the one who got me a job in a factory and did her best to keep me off the streets.

"Oh Rachel," she gasps, pulling me into my third hug of the day, a new record. "This is like a bad dream I can't wake up from. I've been dreading this happening from the moment I met you. I don't know why the Capitol has it out for your family, but it just isn't fair," she says, wiping a few tears away. "I know time's almost up, so I want you to have this." Taffeta reaches into her bag, producing a small velvet pouch, pressing it into my hands.

I can feel something hard, yet small, inside of it. "What is this?" I ask her, giving her a confused expression.

"My father gave it to me when I was a child. I used to be so afraid of sleeping at night, convinced monsters and boogeymen would kill me in my sleep. Of course, now I know differently, but a five-year-old doesn't. He gave me this necklace as a token of bravery, saying all I needed to do was wear it and it would protect me as I slept. I don't need it anymore, so maybe it can protect you in the arena," Taffeta says with a weak attempt at a smile.

I open the pouch, pulling out a long golden chain. Around it is a charm of a lion, back on its hind legs as it lets out a large roar. I nod at Taffeta as I slip the token around my neck. "Thank you," I say, taking her hand and giving it a small squeeze. "I know they're coming to get me any moment, so let me say goodbye to each of you one last time," I murmur. One by one, I hug each of them tightly as though this is the last time I will see them. And in my mind, I know that's what this is. After today, never again will Blaine wake me up early Saturday morning to enjoy our day off. Never again will Taffeta bring over a bag of old clothes, hoping one of them won't be too long on my petite frame. And never again will Cooper pull me into one of his spine-crushing hugs when he sees me.

This is it. This is the last time I'll ever see my family again.

When the peacekeeper opens the door, I am sobbing while Blaine attempts to comfort me. Since he is a Capitol peacekeeper and not one who resides in our district, he doesn't know me, nor does he care to. He doesn't give me a few moments to compose myself. Instead, he takes me by the arm, leading me out of the room and towards the train that will bring me to the arena of my demise.

Like a pig being sent to the slaughter.

I am led onto the train into the dining car where Knot is already sitting. Poor kid, he looks petrified. I bet if I saw myself in the mirror I would appear quite the same. The table is set with the most delicious food I have ever seen in my life. My stomach growls with agony, never having seen so much food before. Noah is already in the room, sitting in the back corner with his face looking out the window. Persei is walking around, muttering to herself as she ticks things off on a clipboard. Will, who had just walked in, heads straight for the bar. No surprises there.

Once he has a glass full of an amber colored liquid, he collapses into the chair next to me at the table, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well hey there sweetheart. Fancy seeing you here," he slurs as I fix him with an icy glare. I may have known Will for as long as I can recall, but things between us aren't the greatest. And I blame him completely.

* * *

_I am running down the empty streets of District 8, looking for some sort of solace. Beth is dead. Mom is dead. I have no one left. I am eleven, and I'm all alone. Either no one knows my mother is dead and I am all alone, or they just don't care._

_My mother had always prepared me for this-not her suicide, but the fact that at any moment, something could happen to her and we'd be alone. She always expected Beth to be there with me. She'd never planned for me to be left all by myself, even though she is the one who abandoned me._

_I don't understand why she would do this. She is my mother. She's supposed to take care of me. She's supposed to raise me, to feed me, to help me live. Instead, she has left me alone in a harsh world where people like me must always fend for themselves. If I'm lucky I'll survive into next week, but with no food and no money, things are not looking good._

_The one saving grace is Will Schuester, the other grown victor of District 8. We also have a 13-year-old victor who won last year, but I don't know him. Not like I know Will, anyways. _

_Will lives in the victor's village, and I eventually make it to his house, pounding on the door with my small fist as I keep sobbing. I don't know how I managed to find Will's house tonight, but I'm not going to question it. All I want is to get inside and curl up on his couch. I just can't be alone. Not now._

_I hear stumbling and something crash to the ground before the door is pulled open and Will is standing there, his eyes bloodshot and a half-empty bottle of white rum clutched in his hand. _

_Of course he's drunk. He's almost never sober anymore. I never knew Will before the drinking started. I only met him after his games, and I was so young then that I don't remember what he was like before he tried to erase the memories with alcohol._

_"You heard then?" he slurs as he takes in my tear-stained face and overall expression of desperation. I feel like screaming at him. Of course I heard. I was down the hall when she stuck the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Of course, he is half out of his mind so I forgive him._

_Instead, I silently nod my head and collapse against his chest, my small arms wrapping themselves around his waist. I want him to pull me inside, to tell me that, despite the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, everything will be okay. Of course that would be a lie, but it is the one thing I really need to hear right now._

_Will has never been known to say the right thing at the right time, and this is no exception. _

_Instead of embracing me, a crying child, he pushes me away, spilling a good portion of his drink on my dress. "I don't have time to deal with a kid right now. I got my own problems. Don't you have a cousin or something? Go bother them. I got enough of my own problems that I can't deal with the orphan kid of my old mentor." With that, I am shooed out his house, his door shut in my face._

* * *

Yes, Will turned me down the one time I truly needed him, and for that reason I will never forgive him. He's attempted to make it up since then, but nothing he ever does will make up for turning me away the night my mother killed herself.

However, I still am grateful for his help. He sends me food when he remembers what day of the week it is and sends me a present on my birthday so I at least get one gift. It's usually something a five-year-old would want thrown into a paper bag, but it's the thought that counts I suppose.

I'm positive Will hasn't taken his eyes off me from the moment my name was called. He's currently grinning at me, but I figure that's an attempt for him to not face the reality of what is going on. Will knows what it is like to be in this position, to be sent away from everything I've ever known with the knowledge that I will not be coming back. He watched my sister do it, and now he must watch me do it.

Persei is saying something about eating but I don't listen. In fact, I don't hear a word she says. My face has been drained of all color and my arms are wrapped around my knees. I want to be sick, but even that takes too much energy.

All I want to do is crawl into the bed I know is in the next car on the train, but I'm fairly certain Persei will personally shove the butter knife on the table into my leg if I move from my seat. She looks eager to go over the plan until we arrive in the Capitol. Too bad she doesn't realize my plan is to lie in bed and count down the minutes until my death.

Knot looks to be feeling the same way, though he has put some food on a plate and is eating, stealing glances at Will every so often. Will has apparently decided he doesn't need a glass and is drinking straight from the bottle. It wouldn't surprise me if Will looks forward to this trip every year if only for the free drinks. The amount of alcohol he buys on a weekly basis must at least put a small dent in the money he has from being a victor, though I could be wrong.

Noah hasn't said much aside from the occasional warning for Will to tone it down since it's still early in the day. Will either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. My money would be on the latter of the two.

Noah eventually abandons his efforts to take care of Will, changing tactics and decides instead to focus on me. We may not be friends, but he seems to have made it his mission in life to take care of me. Or, at least to ensure I survive until I am eighteen. Too bad he's going to fail in a matter of weeks.

"You know, you really should try to eat something," he murmurs quietly as he moves seats, settling down right next to me. I wish he would just fuck off and leave me alone, but I also am enjoying the company. I hardly ever talk to someone who isn't Blaine, Cooper, or Taffeta.

I fix my brown eyes on him, giving him an exasperated look, my eyes devoid of all feeling at this point. "Why bother? Anything I eat right now is going to come right back up."

Noah looks as though he's going to say something but is interrupted as Persei decides to use that moment to address us. I hear her heels clicking on the floor of the train before she starts speaking. She fixes her eyes on the table, looking around momentarily before speaking.

"Well, time to assign the mentors, then!" she says cheerily. Her enthusiasm makes me want to slug her in the face, though I resist and instead fix her with an icy glare that hopefully gets my point across just as well. Persei looks away from me, instead choosing to focus on Knot. Poor kid. "Yes, you'll each have your own mentor. That's not to say the other mentor can't help you, but all your sponsors and training will be organized through whoever you are working most with."

"Are we allowed to make requests or are you just assigning us someone?" I interrupt, my voice dull and without any trace of emotion.

Persei looks shocked for a moment, unable to believe I'm actually talking without being spoken to first. However, she disguises that a moment later and fixes me with her cheery grin once more. "Of course, assuming Knot has no qualms about your request."

"Then I want Noah to train me," I say instantly, not bothering to look at Will. I know I won't be able to handle alone time with Will attempting to teach me how to survive in the arena. Instead, he'll just show me how awful it is to be a victor, leading by example. No thank you.

Persei gets the okay from Knot before nodding her head and agreeing those as our mentors. She begins talking about what will happen when we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning but I tune her out. I already know what's going to happen. We'll meet our stylists who will dress us for the tribute parade, a tradition of the hunger games. Each district must dress as their industry, meaning this is one of the few times I'm glad we produce textiles. At least it's better than going in looking like coal miners.

We eat and chat for awhile until it is close to dinner, meaning it is time to watch the reapings from all the other districts. This will be the first time I am seeing my competition, something that makes me nervous. I have accepted my fate, but seeing the faces of 22 other kids, most of whom will die, makes this journey that much more real. If I somehow make it past the first day, I may have to kill some of them, something I'm positive I won't be able to do.

The reapings have been scattered throughout the day, though in the evening each one is shown in district order, introducing the entire nation of Panem to the 24 children who will be celebrities for a short period of time. People in the Capitol love us. We're their entertainment, after all. They will love us up until we die, then they will forget about us and move on until the next year where they will repeat the same process. It's sickening.

First up is District 1, also known as the luxury district. The tributes from there tend to be well trained and tend to have more victors than most other districts. Their mentors vary from year to year, having a pool of past victors to choose from unlike us in District 8.

The reaping there is quite uneventful. First, a girl with blonde hair is chosen. She has a haughty expression on her face, one of self-confidence that says she know she's better than the other girls in her district. She is led to the front and speaks for a moment before taking a seat next to the female mentor. I already know I don't like her, and we haven't even met yet. The boy is next. He is tall and awkward looking, though that doesn't mean I should write him off. He could send a knife through my heart before I even have a chance to blink. If I knew he wasn't planning fifty different ways to kill me right at this moment, I would think he was kind of cute.

Next up is District 2. Typically, they're in the Capitol's pocket. During the rebellion, they were the first to turn on the others and go back to the Capitol. Like District 1, they produce many victors and make up the 'career pack' in each games along with districts 1 and 4. They're also exceptionally brutal. One year, a tribute from there ripped another tribute's throat out with his bare hands before going on to snap another girl's neck the next day. Needless to say, he was a bit too brutal to win, so the game makers took him out with a sudden rock slide.

Both tributes are hulking examples of humanity. They are both at least double my size and tower over their Capitol representative. The girl could kill me just by sitting on me, and the boy looks as though he could snap my body in two. Like a twig. Memo to me: stay as far away as possible from District 2.

One thing that both tributes from District 2 have in common is the fact both volunteer themselves as tribute. Volunteering isn't uncommon in the career districts because, statistically, more winners come from districts 1, 2, and 4 than any other district. You hardly ever see volunteers in the other districts. In fact, I don't know if District 8 has ever had a volunteer from the beginning of the Hunger Games.

District 3 is next, a small yet extremely poor district who specializes in technology. When my mother was still living, she always used to say how the few victors from District 3 were odd. Well, more odd than the other victors.

A tall and slim blonde girl is chosen. When I see her facial expression as her name is called, I think back to earlier. She looks the same as I'm sure I did. Abject terror is etched on the soft features of her face and I am positive if one of the victors didn't go over to her and help her to a seat, she would have collapsed on the stage. The boy is small, one who looks like he could easily be taken out. I of course am smaller than him, but he isn't a prime example of male strength like the boy from District 2. He looks as though he thinks this is some kind of joke, that any moment they will tell him he can get off the stage and go home.

Next up is 4, one of the wealthiest districts in Panem. They are right on the water, meaning they supply our nation with fish. The male tribute is tall with tanned skin and defined muscles, no doubts from hauling in nets of fish every day. I won't deny that he is extremely good looking. And based on the face he makes when the camera pans to his face, he knows it as well. The girl is smaller with skin just as tanned as the boys. Although she is probably around my height, her arms appear to be much more muscular than mine. Plus, I am sure she can at the minimum fend for herself in the wild, giving her an immediate advantage over me.

District 5 specializes in power. Like 3, it is smaller with a low population, meaning there is less tessera then some of the larger districts. Both tributes are tall, physically fit Asian kids who look as though they could be related. With the small percentage of Asian's in our nation, it wouldn't surprise me if they were. Both look horrified as their name is called. The girl stumbles a few times on her way up to the stage after her name is called while the boy walks with his head held high, not showing a hint of emotion on his face. I guess that he's been trained not to show any amount of fear so as not to look weak. I suppose it works since he already intimidates me.

District 6 is transportation. I can't say that I know much about their district at all, though I've heard rumors that many people there had a drug problem. More specifically, a morphling problem. The tributes from 6 usually don't last long. If they make is past the bloodbath of the cornucopia, they usually are dead by the end of the first day. They, like us in district 8, aren't prepared for the challenging nature of surviving in the arena. I suppose that is what living in a city does to you.

The girl is a skinny thing, probably a few inches taller than me. She has dark hair that ends halfway down her back. She has tanned skin and dark eyes, though when she makes it up on the stage, they look empty, as though she is already dead. I don't know what it is about her, but I feel a connection between us. I don't know this girl, but I already want to reach out to her, to help her get as far as she can in these games. The boy is tall without much meat on his bones. He looks stunned when his name is called and seems to stumble towards the stage, not quite sure where he is going.

District 7 is known for lumbar. Previous victors from here have skill with axes, especially throwing them in the backs of their competitors. They may not be the strongest bunch like the careers from districts 1, 2, and 4, but they are smart. They know how to live off the land and are excellent climbers and hiders, sometimes making them difficult to kill.

The girl is small with blonde hair and glasses. She looks young, maybe fourteen at the most. I don't know what it is about her, but something seems off. She looks at the camera in a strange way and doesn't even look scared or upset. A woman in the crowds is sobbing and screaming that this isn't right. I guess that it's her mother or a sister-someone close who doesn't want to see her go. The boy is tall and thin though I can see through his shirt that his upper body is built. He has dark hair in dreads that is tied back. He looks shocked but doesn't show much emotion as he makes his way to the stage, answering a few questions before the screen changes and district 8 is up.

I watch my own reaping, though turn away as my name is called. I hear the cries of pain from my cousins, but I can't watch. I don't want to see Cooper crying or Blaine's look of shock as I am lead to the stage. I don't want to see the dead look in my eye as Persei brings up my dead family members and laughs about how my getting reaped is an insult to their memory. I keep looking away as Knot is called. Instead, I look at him. He is also keeping his eyes off the images, looking at me. I give him a cautious smile, trying to do something to get him to at least look a little less morbid about the whole thing. Easier said than done.

District 9, also known as the grain district. The kids from here never survive long, despite muscular arms from harvesting grain all year long. The one year both tributes from 9 did well was the year the arena was an abandoned farm. I guess that year they felt right at home. The boy is blonde and tall. He is lean and muscular with sunkissed skin from spending days in the sun. The girl is small. She may even be smaller than me. She has dark hair that goes all the way down her back and tanned skin. She looks as though she has a lovely smile, though she doesn't smile once after her name is called.

District 10 provides the country with livestock. They breed cows, chickens, lambs...all sorts of animals, really. They raise the animals that become the meat of all the meals in Panem. The girl is thin and blonde, though she seems to possess some sort of strength. She looks to be someone I know I don't wish to mess with. She gives the camera a fierce look and I am a bit taken aback by her demeanor. The boy is tall with curly hair. I reluctantly admit to myself that he's pretty cute, despite the cocky look planted firmly on his face.

District 11 is agriculture. Tributes from this district are usually good climbers, scavengers, and tend to be quite clever, but they are thin and underfed, meaning they don't do very well in the games. The girl is dark skinned and a bit plump, especially coming from district 11. She looks terrified being led to the stage, something I cringe at. Showing fear is a fatal mistake my mother used to say. It makes you an easy target for all the other tributes. She used to say not to show fear unless you were in your bed alone, where no one could use is against you. The boy is tall with dark skin and curly hair. He looks strong, but not as much as some of the other tributes.

District 12 is the last district shown. They are responsible for mining. They are also one of the poorest districts. Among us in district 8, we refer to them as district starve. Everyone there starves to death. As little food as I have, the people of district 12 have much less than I do. A thin brown-haired girl is picked. She looks quite plain and very underfed. I can see her bones sticking out, and know she won't survive long. The boy looks very similar to her. If they hadn't said two different last names, I would have guessed they were siblings.

Persei shuts the television off after the seal of Panem appears on the screen following the last reaping. "Well, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Everyone should find their sleeping quarters and head to bed. We'll arrive in the Capitol in the morning," she explains, bidding us goodnight as she disappears into her room. Knot departs next, not saying much as he leaves.

Will gets up a few minutes later, staggering as he does so, spilling some of his rum onto the carpet covering the floor of the carriage. "Night sweetheart," he slurs at me as he struggles to get the door open, finally doing so when Noah rises to his feet and helps him.

Noah and I are left alone, but not for long. I know he's going to be training me and I should at least try to like him, but I don't have the energy to do that now. Instead, I leave him without even saying goodnight, closing and locking the door to my bedroom carriage.

I lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. All of this is too complicated. I shouldn't be here. I should be back in district 8 with Blaine, celebrating the end of his reapings. Instead I am on this train heading towards the Capitol. Tomorrow I will be put on display like an attraction.

Tomorrow I will have to spend time alone with Noah Puckerman as he attempts to teach me how to keep myself alive. I didn't think my life could get any worse after my mother died.

Apparently I was wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up in the morning to a sharp knocking on my door. Persei is waking me up for breakfast, demanding I get out of bed and get dressed before we arrive in the Capitol. She says I must eat otherwise I may not have anything to eat until after the opening ceremony. Persei doesn't seem to realize that I can go for days without eating, though I will humor her and at least eat a piece of fruit. Might as well eat something when it is right in front of me. I only have so many days left to enjoy things like breakfast.

Since I have no change of clothes with me, I walk in wearing exactly what I was wearing yesterday. My reaping day dress is wrinkled in a few places, but it isn't very noticeable unless you are standing directly next to me. I have braided my hair and fastened it with a clip. I suppose it doesn't matter much what I look like at the moment. My stylist will make me over as soon as we arrive in the Capitol for the ceremonies tonight.

Everyone else is already seated around the table when I walk in, covering my mouth to suppress a yawn. Knot has piled his plate high with as much food as possible while Will is examining the sloshing bottles of liquor lining the carriage window. Noah is sitting in a chair in the corner, attempting not to pay attention to anything going on. This can't be easy on him. I am only a few years younger than him and will be another kid he has to do his hardest to train, only to watch them die. That is the silver lining in all of this. Once I die, I'll never have to deal with another hunger games, and neither will any of my family. They will all be safe after this.

I sit down at the table to the left of Will's empty seat and put a few pieces of food on the plate in front of my. To my surprise, I am actually quite hungry. I end up eating more than I had planned to, but this is a good thing. I can use as much fattening up as possible before being sent into the arena.

I can't help but want to eat. All the food here is so yummy and delicious. My body isn't used to so much food that tastes so good so I have had a stomach ache since last night, yet I still force another slice of bacon into my watering mouth.

"Slow down sweetheart. That food's not going anywhere. There'll be plenty more once we arrive in the Capitol." I look up and see Will eyeing me with amusement.

I know it is childish and petulant, but I eat another piece of toast just to spite him. Of course, a wave of nausea hits me as I do so, but I refuse to let it show on my face. Even to my team, I want to appear strong. I know I am the opposite of that, but I need to at least come off as somewhat intimidating to give myself a chance of lasting through the bloodbath that typically opens the games.

Will just rolls his eyes while Noah stares out the window of the train, looking bored. I haven't seen him show any kind of emotion once since we boarded the train, though maybe that is his way of coping with everything. Will has his rum, Noah has his apathy.

I get up from the table and move to the seat beside Noah, joining him in staring out the window as the train breezes through Panem, the Capitol growing closer and closer. He glances over at me for a moment, a desolate look in his eyes. Without saying a word, he holds his hand out to me, and I take it without a second thought. Noah Puckerman is not the enemy. He's only 18, and he is once again being forced to send someone his age to be killed. A girl. Me.

Noah squeezes my hand lightly as the train enters the Capitol and I am oddly comforted. I can't say I know him from anyone else in our district, but right now he is all I have. He is my only chance of getting home to Blaine and Cooper, and his hand is kind of warm and nice to hold. I look out the window at the crowds surrounding the station, and I feel my stomach flip. They are shouting my name, calling for me, but instead of leaning my head out the window to greet them, I turn my face away, a distinct shade of red coloring my cheeks.

That makes Noah laugh, a deep throaty sound that comes out of his mouth, which only makes me blush more. "Keep blushing," he murmurs in my ear as we get up and exit the train. "It will make you seem sweet and innocent. God knows I have to do my best to make you come across as innocent," he says quietly. I know what he is trying to say. Around district 8, it is no secret about what girls like me spend my nights doing.

* * *

_The chain-link fence is cold as I press my back against it, the wind rustling through my dark hair. Every time I am out here, I wish I had worn something warmer, but I never do. You get more money if you wear less clothing._

_Tonight, the short, tight skirt I am wearing is not helping me stay warm. It is nearing November and temperatures drop into the forties each night. Yet, I go out after Blaine has gone to bed in a mid-drift baring top and tight skirt paired with thigh-high boots. I have a small jean jacket on as well, but it doesn't help with much._

_I just hope someone shows up soon so I am able to get out of the cold. The possibility that I might be standing here all night without any takers is not a pleasant thought._

_There are four of us out here tonight. On weekends, there are more, but since it is only Wednesday, only those of us who are truly desperate for the extra money work. If Blaine knew where I was, he would drag me back to our apartment by my hair. Of course, it is the money I earn at night that puts food on the table and allows us to afford our home. Without it, we would be on the streets starving. I refuse to let that happen to us._

_We call ourselves women of the night, though most of us are still girls. I'm sixteen, yet I'm not even the youngest. Coco, the newest girl to join our club, is only fourteen. There are the older girls too, the ones who are now in their twenties, but there are lots of men in district 8 who likes the younger girls like me._

_Michael Armani, the older brother of a boy I attend school with, is one such man. He's nearing 30, yet he prefers his girls under 18. The men who come to us are all rich. Factory owners, designers, peacekeepers. Hell, I once spent the night with our mayor. When you have everything you could ever need, you can afford to buy a woman for the night._

_Or a girl._

_Armani typically only shows up on the weekends, so it is a bit unusual to see him tonight. However, he's dressed in a suit like usual and we can see the bulge in his pocket where he keeps the money he will pay whatever girl leaves with him. This is the worst part. He looks the four of us over, grinning because he knows he has the power right now. He's choosing who gets to leave the cold, who gets extra money for food tonight._

_He stops in front of me, his arm extending so his palm is resting on my cheek. "Shall we?" he says, and I nod my head, pushing off the fence so I am standing closer to him. I take his arm and let him lead the way. _

_Each night, I feel another part of me slip away, another part of me die. But people do what they have to do to survive._

* * *

Yes, any innocence I ever had was lost once I started spending my nights working the streets. I know Noah is going to instruct me to keep that part of me hidden, but sometimes things like that come out.

I clutch Noah's arm as I walk off the train, the flashes of the cameras blinding me momentarily. People are calling to me, but they come from all directions that I don't know which way to look. Instead, I force myself to smile and look around as I walk towards the building that will be my home for the next few weeks while I train.

I am led inside and instantly whisked away from Knot. I see him and Will head in the opposite direction of Noah and I. A group of people is waiting for me. There is one smaller man who is surrounded by three tall, statuesque women. This is my stylist and his team, ready to make me over for the tribute parade tonight.

The man walks forward, a grin on his face. He isn't much bigger than I am. He's petite, especially for someone from the Capitol. His auburn hair is expertly styled and, unlike most Capitol residents who choose to dye their skin colors like lavender and lime green, his skin is only slightly tanned. His teeth are a blinding shade of white, and his clothing clings to his body.

"Oh, I knew I was lucky when I saw you walk up on stage at your reaping," he gushes, pulling me away from Noah and placing both his hands on my shoulders. "Such natural beauty. Though you are a bit thinner than I thought, though no worries. Aphrodite will just take the dress in a bit once we get it on you."

I look up at him, confusion etched across my entire face. His is already leading me away into a smaller room where I suppose he will do a more thorough inspection of me.

"Oh how horrid of me," he laughs, closing the door behind us. "I'm Kurt, your stylist. I'm always forgetting introductions, especially when I'm all excited like I am now. But you really can't blame me. I've been waiting for this day for months and months. It's my first year as a stylist for one of the districts, you see. I have so many wonderful ideas."

"Lucky you, getting stuck with us winners in district 8."

"I asked for district 8. You may have one of the lowest chances of winning, but there's so much I can do for you. Besides, district 8 has the most beautiful women in my opinion," he adds. "Though I wouldn't take my opinion on things. I tend to like my mates with a little less breasts and a little more muscle."

A little less-oh! I blush as the realization hits me, which just causes Kurt to laugh again.

"Yes, that. So if you happen to know any attractive single guys, send them my way," he jokes, letting down my hair. "You have such a lovely color to your hair. I think if we add lots of waves to it, it will frame your face nicely." He seems to be talking to himself as he walks in circles around me, nodding occasionally. "Perfect!" he finally exclaims. "Yes, I think this will all turn out nicely. You're going to be the talk of the tribute parade, I just know it!"

"Sorry, but why exactly am I going to be that?" I ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"You mean besides the fact that I'm a genius?"

"Naturally."

Kurt laughs again. "Well, for starters, you are a stunner. And second, because I really am a genius. I know in come years they've dressed the tributes as a needle and thread or something ridiculous like that. Not this year. I'm embracing that most of your residents work in clothing factories. You're going to show everyone what amazing things district 8 can make. But first, let's make you up!"

The next hours pass by in a blur. My styling team pokes and prods me as I am scrubbed down from head to toe, any traces of dirt and grime gone from my body. Kurt has instructed them to return me to what he calls "Beauty Base Zero." Then, he can get a good look of what he really has to work with before I am fully made over.

I feel very exposed when my team is finally finished. My hair has been combed and washed but not styled. My nails are cleaned, cut, and shaped, but not colored. My face is clear of blemishes but not made up. I am given a paper gown to wear while I sit and wait for Kurt to walk back in and assess me.

He strolls in after a few minutes of waiting, two cups of something clenched in his hands. He passes one to me and I inhale the scent. It's warm and intoxicating. Hot chocolate. I've only ever had it once in my life and as I recall, it tasted like heaven. I greedily drink the rich substance down, my eyes on Kurt as he watches me with interest.

Once my cup is empty, he makes me completely undress as he once again assesses what he has to work with. I try not to feel self conscious, but after 20 minutes of him circling me and clicking his tongue, I finally lose it.

"I'm sorry if my body isn't quite up to your standards," I snap, crossing my arms over my bare breasts, my brows furrowed in frustration. "Not all of us in district 8 can look like fashion models."

Kurt laughs and shakes his head. "You're perfect. You're everything I could have wished for in a tribute, especially that spunk you have. Come, let's make you look fabulous."

* * *

"Oh, wow," I whisper as I look at myself in the mirror. I've been in the prep room for hours on end as my entire body was made over. Finally, once it was all done, Kurt helped me into the costume he designed for me.

I am in awe. It's a floor length gown, pale pink in color, though it looks like I am dressed in little scraps of cloth. Tiny squares of fabric are stitched together to make up the dress. When I move, the fabric moves with me. I am in love with Kurt.

Kurt is leading me towards the carriages, my hand on his arm. The heels he has placed on my feet are high and thin, making them very difficult to walk in. Kurt, however, has a strong grip on me, and refuses to let me fall in front of the other 23 kids who are currently plotting ways to kill me.

We find the carriage for district 8 where Knot is standing with his stylist, waiting for me to arrive. Knot is dressed in a black fitted suit. Like me, there are hundreds of pieces of fabric stitched onto it, giving us the appearance that we match.

Kurt and Knot's stylist, Rose, promise us they'll be in the audience before bidding us goodbye. The lights in the back have dimmed as everything is prepared for the parade. I look next to me at Knot. He's just a kid. A trembling, terrified kid. He reminds me of Beth, how scared she was when I said goodbye to her before she left for the Capitol.

I place my hand on top of his and give him a warm smile. "Hey, relax. They're going to love us," I promise. He gives me a weak smile in response before the music starts and the chariots start to move.

I grip the front rail for support and allow myself to smile as we head out. Our look may not be flashy or eye-catching, but we still look stunning. I will never question anything Kurt does, not when he made me look like this.

People are shouting my name, calling to me. I turn my face towards them and give them a dazzling smile. To some, I even blow a kiss, which just makes them cheer louder. The chariot eventually comes to a stop in the front of the arena. The anthem of Panem plays and President Snow walks out onto his balcony, waving to all the citizens of Panem. After all, this is being broadcast live to the entire nation.

The president makes his speech, stating the purpose of the hunger games before closing the opening ceremonies. After this, we will all go to our compartments in the training building, our homes for the next few weeks until we are transported to the arena for the games.

Once the chariots file out and we are in the back once more, surrounded by our stylists, mentors, and of course, Persei.

"You two were magnificent our there!" Persei says excitedly as Noah helps me down from the carriage, his left hand lingering on the small of my back for an extended moment before he lets me go.

I look up at him, confusion etched across my face. "Well, we should head up. Your training starts tomorrow. You need to be well rested," he finally says, turning away from me. We ride up to floor eight in silence, Persei chattering mindlessly as we do.

Dinner is laid out for us when we arrive, and I don't realize how hungry I am until my stomach growls. I change into a simple nightgown before sitting down at the table, eating in silence. That simple touch shared between Noah and myself, I keep thinking about it. How his hand lingered on my waist longer than necessary, how he's always looking at me, how I can't help the way my face heats up or my heart beats when he's close to me.

No, this is the last thing I should be thinking about now. I need to be thinking about survival, not the dimples on my mentors face. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about him and the way he looks at me.

After dinner, I make my way to my room, desperate to be alone. The others are still out in the main area, but I can't be there with them. I can't listen to them start to strategize about the games. I don't even want to think about it. I just want this to be over.

I lie in bed for hours, wanting sleep to come, but it doesn't. Instead, I toss and turn for hours before giving up. Sleep isn't going to come, and I know that. Instead, I grab a blanket off my bed and wrap it around myself, quietly exiting my room. Our quarters are silent and dark, all doors closed with their occupants sleeping. I head for the door that leads to the roof, walking up the stairs. I walk out, breathing in the cool air and letting out a sigh of relief. This right here, this feels like home.

I miss my apartment. I miss Blaine and our mornings together and how we just laugh when they shut our air off every other week. I miss district 8, something I never thought would happen. But being up here on the roof, it's like being back in district 8. It's a lot nicer here, of course, but it's a city. I hear the noises from below which comforts me.

"Oh, I didn't realize someone was up here." I turn and find myself staring into the eyes of Noah Puckerman, my mentor. "Couldn't sleep?"

I know I shouldn't be alone with him, that I should avoid him as much as possible when my heart keeps going into overdrive around him, but I want to be up here. Besides, he's the only person who I feel comfortable telling about how I feel. He's been where I am before, he will understand.

I shake my head. "No, I keep trying to shut my eyes and sleep, but my head is full of so many thoughts that I just toss and turn."

Noah nods his head. "Yeah, I get it. I was that way too. I don't think I slept that much my three weeks here before the games started." I smile a little at that, though it doesn't reach my eyes. "How are you handling things?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. I keep telling myself that this is all a dream, that I'm going to wake up and be back in my bed in district 8, but I know it's not. I know I'm going to die here and leave my family more broken than they already are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. They've already taken everything from me, why couldn't they have left me my life?"

Noah is frowning as he takes in my words but I don't stop. The gates have opened and the words keep pouring out.

"I know I can't fight. I know I'm a small, underfed girl who works a factory by day and sells her body by night. I know I'm nothing compared to the other tributes, that I'll be dead before the games really start. I just...I don't want to lose myself before that. I want to go out as the Rachel Berry I am, not the Rachel Berry the Capitol turns me into. I want to die as myself, not some stranger these games make me."

I look up, letting out a sigh once I have finished, and stare into Noah Puckerman's eyes. He is standing right in front of me, his face inches from mine. "Then don't let them, Rachel," he whispers, his lips brushing over mine. "Don't let them turn you into something you're not. Don't let them turn you into a piece of their games." He presses his lips against mine, his hands on my shoulders. He holds me close for a moment before releasing me.

I look at him, my face flushed. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. All I can do is stare into his eyes as Noah trips over his words, stepping back from me. "I, uh...I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Rachel."

He leaves the roof, leaving me alone once more. I stare out at the city lights, my fingers brushing over my lips, remembering how his lips felt on mine just moments before. I don't know what to think, but all I know is that maybe, just maybe, Noah Puckerman might be able to help me survive these games, even if he doesn't know it yet. Because deep inside me, he has stirred something. Not untapped strength or skills or anything like that. No, he's stirred something stronger.

A desire to live.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, I am woken up by a rapping at the door. Persei is saying how it's a big big day, which means I need to get out of bed even though it feels as though I have just fallen asleep.

I sit up in bed and the female Avox assigned to serve district 8 walks into the room, helping me out of bed. I always wonder if the Avoxes forced to serve the tributes for the few weeks before they are sent off to their deaths in the arena feel bad for them-us. Who knows how many other tributes this girl has served. Does she see our deaths as justice for her tongue being cut out and being forced into a life of servitude?

I allow her to usher me into the bathroom where I bathe in a shower much grander than one I've ever seen before. There are many knobs and each one does something different. However, I am expected at breakfast so I don't have much time to examine the new shower. Instead, I quickly wash my hair and body before pulling a fluffy robe over my bare body, heading back into my room.

On the bed, my training outfit is laid out for me. Black pants that end just below my knees, black sneakers, and a white tunic stamped with the number 8. All the other tributes will be dressed similarly, the only difference being the number on their tunic. I pull my hair back into a braid and fasten it with a rubber band before heading out into the living area of our compartment.

Everyone is already seated around the table, their plates filled high with food. Except for Will, of course. He has a piece of toast on his plate and a mug filled with what I suspect is some form of liquor. I don't know why Noah doesn't try to keep him sober for Knot's sake, but that's not my job to worry about. I need to think about myself and getting home to Blaine. I can't worry about my district partner. After all, he's an opponent. I just hope someone else will kill him. I don't think I could if it came down to it.

I see Noah looking at me and my mind flashes back to last night on the roof. Where he kissed me. I still don't know why he did it or how he felt about it, but I feel my heart beat fast when I see him looking at me.

I know this isn't good. I can't fall in love with my mentor, not now. If the circumstances were different and he weren't training me on how to survive an arena designed to kill me, maybe this could work. But it can't. I am a tribute in the hunger games. I am from district 8, where no winners emerge. I want to live, but I know realistically my chances are low.

How can I let Noah fall in love with me when I may not survive? I can't. Allowing that to happen would be cruel.

I take a seat next to Will, the scent of booze invading my nostrils. It's early and he's already drunk as a skunk. I shouldn't be surprised, though I would have thought he'd wait a little longer before getting completely trashed.

I pile food onto my plate and begin eating, looking everywhere but at Noah. However, I can't completely avoid him. He's my mentor, so as I finish the food on my plate, I shouldn't be surprised when he asks to speak to me alone.

I nod my head and get up from the table and follow him over to a corner, looking at him. He places a hand on my shoulder and his eyes meet mine. "You're going to have your group training session now. There's going to be lots of stations that you can try out. Tell me now-is there anything you're good at?"

"Besides sex?" I ask without a hint of humor on my face.

Noah smiles a little at that. "Yes, besides sex."

I shake my head. "No, not really. I mean I can sew so I'm probably okay at tying knots, but I can't do something like throw a knife or anything like that."

Noah nods his head. "Alright, well I still want you to steer clear of as many of the weapons stations as possible. If you have a hidden talent, I don't want everyone knowing about it. And if you're horrible at it, I don't want everyone seeing how weak you are. Stick with the stations that will help you survive in the arena. You know, setting traps, camouflage, building fires. Things like that. And try to make a few friends if you can. Nothing wrong with finding a few allies." He leans forward and kisses my forehead.

I look up at him, biting my lip. "Noah..."

He places a finger on my lips, silencing me. "I know. We'll talk about it in your private training session later. Now isn't the time or place." He pulls me close to him in a tight hug and I wrap my arms around him, hugging him back. His arms are warm and comforting. He remind me a bit of Cooper and Blaine, holding me together when I feel as though my whole world is falling apart.

He releases me and I am sure everyone is going to be staring at us. However, no one seems to have even noticed we were gone from the table. Persei gets up as I walk back over, insisting on walking us down to the training center. I glance back at Noah and he nods his head once before I disappear from sight.

We ride the elevator in silence, though when we walk into the training center, I decide to share some of Noah's advice with Knot. I know Will probably hasn't helped him at all, and it's my fault Will is his mentor.

Knot listens and nods his head as I tell him what Noah told me. About half the tributes are here, all of them brought in by their Capitol escort. As we wait, more and more tributes arrive until all of us are here. The career tributes of districts 1, 2, and 4 all group together immediately as our instructor greets us and instructs us that we will have the next few hours to explore the stations in the room.

Knot leaves my side and I feel alone. I don't know how I am supposed to make friends here. I've never been very good at making friends anyways, so how am I supposed to make friends with someone when I'll just have to kill them later?

Instead, I make my way alone over to the fire starting station. I've never started a fire in my life, and I know it will be a useful skill to have in the arena. I know fires are a sure way to give away your position in the arena, but you never know when you might need that skill.

The man at the station introduces himself as Leporis Selkirk. He's tall and has a kind smile, making me immediately like him. I see his hands are rough, probably from years of working with fire or something like it. He shows me how to start a simple fire with wood and grass. It's difficult at first, but after almost thirty minutes of trying, I manage to start a small flame.

Leporis laughs and gives me a thumbs up before moving onto starting a fire with flint. I'm at the station almost an hour before thanking him and moving on. I feel as though he liked having someone at his station. I bet he doesn't get a lot of people learning how to make fires when there are stations that are aimed at throwing axes.

I walk over to a station designed at setting snares to catch animals and spend some time there. Though I've never been a hunter, tying the complicated snares comes easy to me after years of working in a factory. I don't spend much time there and quickly move on, skipping over all the weapons stations. The career pack, an alliance established long before the games even started, is practicing throwing knives at a target. The one girl, the blonde from district one, hits the target each time with extreme accuracy. I make a mental note to steer clear of her in the arena.

I walk over to the edible plant station and spend the rest of the time learning about what things I can eat and what things to stay away from. I remind myself to remember what nightshade looks like. It's extremely poisonous and will kill you even if you only ingest a little.

I turn to look around for the remaining time and find myself face to face with the female tribute from district six. She's taller than me, though she has a sickly look to her. I don't know much about her district, but I have heard rumors that, like those of us in eight, there is a large addiction problem there.

She has a dead look in her eyes and her tanned skins clings to her bones, causing me to wonder which of us needs fattening up more. "You're the girl from eight. The only one left from that family," she states. I notice her voice has the same deadness that her eyes have, and I wonder what it is that she's addicted to. My guess would be morphling. Most of the citizens from six are addicted to it if the rumors are to be believed, and she seems to have the look of someone who is going through withdrawal. Her hands are trembling slightly and her face twitches every so often as though she has no control over it.

I simply nod my head, not wanting to talk about my mother or sister.

"Rachel Berry," she says with a nod. "Right?"

I nod once more. "You're the girl from six. I don't know anything about you or your district," I admit, shrugging my shoulders sheepishly.

"Santana Lopez," she introduces, though she doesn't extend her hand to take mine. I would guess we're around the same age. She doesn't look like she's eighteen yet, so I'd guess she's sixteen or seventeen. Most of the tributes seem to be that age. There are a few, like Knot, who are younger, but the majority of us are on the older side, definitely putting me at a disadvantage. They're all bigger than me and could easily defeat me if it came down to hand-to-hand combat. Even Santana could kick my ass. "We're the transportation district, though we really don't use it that much in our own district," she explains.

I don't know what it is about her, but something draws me to this weak, broken girl. And then I realize she reminds me of myself. The two of us have seen horrible things in our life. We are not like the girl from one, the giggly flirty type. We are broken beyond repair. Our lives are hanging on by a thread, and being reaped into the games is almost a blessing because maybe, just maybe, we'll be put out of our misery.

We both seem to be silently examining the other. I know she's not the ideal ally. She won't help when it comes to strength or fighting, but I trust her. And she's who I want on my team. Noah's going to be thrilled when I tell him I want to work with the addict in withdrawal.

The tall, blonde-haired boy from district nine walks past us and I think I see him give me a smile, though I could be imagining it. No, he's definitely smiling at me. He's walked over to the archery station and makes a deal about struggling to string the bow and arrow, though I can tell he's putting on an act.

"He's faking it," Santana murmurs to me. "Just look at him. He's trying too hard to act like he doesn't know what he's doing. I bet he's deadly with that thing and he doesn't want everyone to know it." She may not look like much, but Santana is surprisingly observant. She's noticed things about the other tributes, which makes my decision to be her friend even easier.

"I thought so," I murmur back to her, still watching the boy from nine. "Though how did you know he was faking it? He's doing a pretty good job at pretending he's incompetent with it."

"I watch people back home. I spend a lot of time sitting outside and watching as people go past. Most people are easy to read, which is how I know I can't rust most people. Like you."

"I've always thought I was hard to read," I say, looking at her.

"Not really. You're broken. You feel hopeless. You've resigned yourself to the fact that you're not making it out of these games alive. You try to push people away because you're afraid you're going to end up hurting them like you've been hurt in your life. You don't have friends which is why you've been walking around here by yourself, but your mentor told you to make friends which is why you didn't turn in the other direction when I came up to you."

I nod my head once. "Perceptive. If you could tell all that from looking at me, why did you come up to me? You know I'm not friendly and bad at making friends."

"Because we're the same. We're the broken, wounded, unapproachable girls. We're cut from the same cloth, and you're the only person here I trust right now no to slit my throat in my sleep."

"So you want to be my friend because I'm surrounded by darkness?"

"Basically. We wounded girls need to stick together. I'm not saying I won't try to kill you eventually, but I'll avoid it until there's no one else left. Or until you turn on me first. Besides, I don't think you're going to have many other options. Most of the other tributes aren't going to want to team up with an addict like me or a hooker like you."

I blush at her words, but I know she's right. We are the broken girls. The girls society has turned their back on. We have our secrets and our ways of dealing with things. Though I don't know if this will even work out. Once the gong sounds in the arena, it's chaos. Who knows if I'll see her once the games really start, though I know if I do, I won't kill her.

"Alright then, Friends," I say and give her a nod.

The training session ends then and Knot and I head back to the eighth floor where everyone is waiting for us, eager to hear how things went. I go off with Noah and we stand in the corner away from everyone else. I glance over and see Knot is talking to a grumpy (yet surprisingly not-drunk) Will. I guess Noah talked some sense into him earlier.

"Ho looks better," I murmur, glancing at Will again. He's not stumbling or slurring his words, though he does look a bit irritated and grumpy. I just hope he takes it out on me instead of Knot.

"I confiscated all the liquor bottles. Locked them in my room. He's staying sober even if it kills him. The kid deserves a mentor who's not in a drunken stupor the whole time."

I smile up at him. "Thank you. Even if it means Will is going to be miserable company for the next few weeks, it'll be worth it."

"Alright, I didn't pull you over here to talk about Will and his tendency to try and forget his games by drinking as much white liquor as he can find. I want to hear about your training session. Make any friends?"

"One," I murmur. "The girl from six. She said her name was Santana."

Noah doesn't seem to react. "And what do you think of her?"

"I feel like I can trust her. She's like me. A broken girl, someone damaged. We have a bond, something I can't describe to you. You just wouldn't get it. But I trust her. I don't want to work with most of those people, Noah. The kids from the career districts, they're awful. I didn't talk to most of the people, and they didn't talk to me either."

"Alright, so you're not good at making friends, I get it," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though it doesn't really matter. Grouping up with people just gives you a higher risk of having them turn on you in your sleep. That means it's all up to you. Surviving, fighting...you're going to have to do it all once you get in there."

"I know," I answer.

"And you're going to have to show your all when you perform for the game makers. I can't do anything if you don't get a somewhat decent score. And we're going to have to really prep you for your interview the last night."

"I get it, Noah. You have your work cut out for you with me. I'm sorry I'm not an ideal tribute," I mutter bitterly.

Noah sighs, placing a hand on my arm. "I never said that. I'm just...this is different from other years."

"How so?" I ask.

Noah shakes his head. "No, forget it. I don't know what I'm saying. Don't worry about it. Come on, you're probably hungry." He drops his hand and heads back to the table, leaving me alone to wonder what exactly he was trying to say.


End file.
